Cruisin for a Bruisin
by GreekHeroine
Summary: Checking into a Ventura motel, in southern California, the boys remember their times in the Impala as they hunt down a demon who's marked a pretty girl with a pretty chevy at a car show. They'll have to cruise cool cars and stay ahead of the demon if they want to find the missing teenagers
1. Checking In

"Ventura, California Sammy, beautiful isn't it?" Dean asked as he parked his Baby on Main Street.

"Gorgeous," Sam rolled his eyes as he stepped out of the Impala.

"Hey, not only are we hunting together again, but we are also in California still. Beautiful sexy California," Dean trailed off as he eyed a trio of pretty girls walking down the street. In nothing but shorts and a bikini tops.

"Ya, hunting," Sam reminded his brother. He hated how easily Dean became sidetracked by pretty girls. But then again, Dean was sidetracked by girls, cars, sharp knives, demons, anything that would kill him, he loved.

Sam wasn't up to his antics though, only 4 days ago his girlfriend Jessica had died. Died by the hand of a demon, who had also killed his mother and was the cause of all this.

He rubbed his forehead, trying to ignore the coincidences that he had dreamed of the attack on Jessica. Coincidences were never good. That demon wasn't good.

Tsam and Dean were brothers and possibly even orphans now. But more importantly they were hunters. Hunters of Monsters and Spirits and Creatures. After their mother was attacked, their dad had taken them on the road and trained them in everything from tracking to conning to dispersing spirits.

Sam had enough though, three years ago, 19 years after his mom had been killed and he forced into this life, Sam had enough of the killing, lying and stealing. He had fought with his dad and left. Left to go to Stanford and become a lawyer. Marry a pretty girl, have a normal life. But then Dean had come back. Dean with the Impala and Dad missing. After stopping the woman in white, Sam was about to return to normalcy, but then Jessica's blood dripped on his face. Coincidence?

Sam hated coincidences.

"Right," Dean smiled, "What is it again?"

"I think a demon. There have been 16 reports in the past 8 years. All 17 year old girls who vanish for a week at a time and then come back completely different."

"Different how?" He asked as they walked up the street eying for a cheap motel.

"For starters, they all quit their jobs, ditched school and killed their parents. Then they vanished into thin air. Police haven't been able to track down why or anything," Sam explained.

"Any connection?"

"Not that I can see."

They waled up about a block when they came up to Mission bell Motel. They checked in and pulled their bags inside the room.

"Just like old times eh Sammy?" Dean asked.

They had grown up in motels, they weren't pretty or nice but they worked.

"Don't call me Sammy," Sam groaned as he tossed his bag on the bed.

"Whatever man," Dean cracked a half smile, "So who was the last victim?"

"Name's Nessandra Wint. Went out to a car show at the harbor. She was seen leaving but didn't make it back home until yesterday."

"Whoa, car show?" Dean asked, his eyes lighting up, "Like classic cars?"

"Ya," Sam said, reading his notebook, "Ventura is popular for car shows, has about 45 shows a year. Not counting the cruise nights."

"When's the next show?" Dean asked.

"We're here to work. Shouldn't we check out Nessandra first?" Sam asked.

"Sammy boy, you want to find out who she is you go to where she hangs out. You know where that's at? Car show."


	2. Baby

_Oh Baby_

Dean smiled as he turned the key. The 67 Impala SS groaned and roared to life. The rumble setting itself into it's typical rhythm. He loved Ventura, Southern California was beautiful and perfect for cruising.

He eyed the motel where Sam was still asleep. He knew he shouldn't leave him. Not with the reappearance of that bastard demon that had killed their mother, but he had to cruise. He _needed_ it.

He folded his fingers over the curve of the wheel and pulled it to the right. The Impala lurched satisfyingly onto the street and he propped one arm on the window. All the windows were down here. California was a rare place where he could have his windows down all the time. There was no wind, no cold, it was sunny and beautiful all the time.

He nodded to more bikini and short combo-ed girls and they giggled and smiled at him. He turned around the corner, cruising the boulevard. It was early and not a lot of cars. This area of Ventura was all old school and small town vibes. Diners and pawn shops. Mom and Pop places, unique, special. He liked the vibe and feel of the town.

He took a road, out towards the fields and breathed contently. There was nothing like cruising. The weight of his Baby the car bearing down on the tires, the crunch of gravel underneath. The power that pushed her forward was immense. All 350 horses corralled inside his engine that were only held back by the power of his foot. He pressed harder on the pedal, hearing that growling roar of the engine rev up and speed faster. He laughed in exuberance, the front of his Baby reached up a fraction of an inch as he barreled down the highway.

Dean glanced across the field, reminded of his times with her.

The Baby had been apart of the family even before the incident. She had sat in the driveway, gleaming in the Kansas sun every day. His dad had driven it around with dean buckled next to him. He couldn't remember anther car before it.

Of course after Mom had died, the Impala became more then a car. It was home, safe and his sanctuary. Whenever Dad wasn't hunting or learning about demons, monsters and spirits he was fixing up the Baby. Before he even knew about the monsters, Dean knew the Baby. When he was 5, he memorized the sizes of screwdrivers, nuts and bolts. By the time he was 9, he knew how to change the tires and fluids. He loved the smell of changing oils and filling up antifreeze. It was another sign of home and security.

When he turned 12, he drove the Impala himself after his dad was passed out fighting a banshee. He remembered the rush of fear and adrenaline as he shifted the stick from park to drive. He could still imagine stretching his feet to reach the clutch as he revved that engine for the first time.

The Baby had squealed in protest as Dean shifted frantically into the right gears. She didn't like Dean messing with her gears and her wheel crazily. After his dad had been healed up by Bobby, his dad and him went out the Impala and he had been shown how to drive her right, how to shift and know the sign of her in distress.

Dean relaxed against the leather, his eyes glancing over the interior. He had kept her in prime condition. Many people asked him about selling, about why he didn't customize and modernize her. He always shook his head. The Baby was perfect, the Legos that rattled in the vents, the army man that was crammed into the ash tray behind him, even his and Sam's initials carved into the back board under the speakers. Those were imperfections to some, but to him it was all charm.

He knew how people saw the Impala. Big, dangerous, sharp, it was like him, dragged through the muddy trenches of an unseen war and still shining bright. The curves of it's lights and the sharpened chromed accents. The glossy finish that he painstakingly polished and waxed once a week was still beautiful. The engine underneath was just as clean as the outside, all chromed out and the fluids topped off. He kept careful tabs on oil and fluids methodically, his toolbox stacked with a Matco tool set. He had a box of 10W40 oil and Royal Purple coolant. It was routine of him to keep it stocked, just as holy water and a blade sharpener.

Dean smiled as he turned onto another road and drove up, overlooking the beach. He kept the key turned though, enjoying the rumble of his Baby, content in her idle.

"Nice car," A voice spoke, jolting him out his reverie. He looked up and saw a young brunette leaning over to his window.


	3. Car Talk

_Damn it Dean,_

He chided himself as he gave the girl a smile. He shouldn't let his guard down. There was a demon loose, a demon or something and he was a hunter. He should be more vigilant.

"Thanks," He smiled.

"66?" She asked.

"No, 67," I raised an eyebrow, this girl knew car years?

"Nice," She nodded, her eyes washing over the car with clear appreciation, "Mind popping the hood?"

Dean eyed her, seeing the curiosity and figured what the hell. If a cute girl like this had an interet like this, it was worth the humor.

"Sure," Dean opened the door, the creaking of aged metal familiar.

He walked around, grabbing and pulling the latch between the grill and the metal of the car. He pushed up on the old hood, satisfied with the creaks and groans.

"You probably won't understand this but it's a small block 327 V8-"

"I'm going to 4 barrel with an automatic. Guessing it's matching numbers and would ya look at that? SS, not a tribute?" The girl finished for him, he raised ane yebrow at Dean who stuttered.

"What? You know cars?"

"Ya, what surprised that a girl knows cars?" She smiled as she rose up from looking over the engine, "My little beast is down there. 68 Chevelle Concours."

Dean whistled as he walked over the edge of the cliff and saw a gorgeous 68 Chevelle sitting next to the sand. It was bright hugger orange with a black vinyl top and sparkling rally wheels. She had a small cowl hood, no more then 2 inches high. The car was beautiful and straight as a razor, dangerous and sharp looking.

"That's yours?" Dean asked in shock, pointing at the crouching muscle car.

"Been mine since I was 14," She smiled and held out a hand, "Carena."

"Dean," He took her hand, noting a firm grip, "So you're into cars?"

"Runs in the family. I assume you're here for Collector Car?"

"Collector Car?" Dean ran through any aliases or stories involving them and found none, "Uh yes, Collector Car totally."

"Little early aren't you? It's Saturday. Most people don't arrive this Thursday or Friday." Carena eyed him.

"Yes well we like to uh arrive early."

"We?"

"Me and my brother."

"Oh so no girl?" She eyed him as she waled alongside his car.

"Na, road trip," He nodded, watching her.

She was beautiful. Short, petite but full of attitude and spark. Her short brunette hair fell in a mop just to her chin and her hazel eyes burned with fire and appreciation. She wa dressed in blue shorts and a black T shirt that hugged her all right aisde from the leather jacket he wore. He noted with a smile that she wore a chain with a piston on it. Whoever this girl was, she was a car girl for sure.

"I want to do that one day," She smiled at him, "But I've been stuck here in this silly town my whole life. My dad..."

"Your dad what?" Dean asked, intrigued.

"My dad is the one who got me into it. The cars. He was a drag racer. Now he's a mechanic and thanks to his skill as a master mechanic, everyone knows him and me."

"That's a bad thing?"

"Bad if you want to get away," She rolled her eyes, "But everyone knows where and when Paul's daughter is."

"Gotta live up to the old man?" He asked, sensing the same feelings he had everyday himself.

"You know it," She grinned ruefully, "Gotta match the great Paul Millan! Paul's daughter as to stick around and be part of the family."

"Ha, I know the feeling," He said, jut a he was about to continue his phone rang.

"Sammy?" He picked up the call.


End file.
